The men heard the unceasing sputter of muskets. Later, the cannon entered the dispute. In the fog-filled air their voices thudded. The reverberations continued without respite. This part of the world led a strange, battleful existence.
Leaders marched the youth's regiment to relieve a command that
had lain long in some damp trenches. The men positioned behind a curving
line of rifle pits the others turned up, like a large furrow, along the line
of woods. Before them a level stretch expanded, peopled with short, deformed
stumps. Skirmishers and pickets popped from the woods beyond, firing in the
fog. The noise of a terrific fracas called from the right.
The men cuddled behind the small embankment and sat in easy
attitudes awaiting their turn. Many kept their backs to the firing. The youth's
friend lay down, buried his face in his arms, and almost instantly, it seemed, fell
into a deep sleep.
The youth leaned his breast against the brown dirt and peered
over at the woods and up and down the line. Curtains of trees interfered with
his ways of vision. He saw the low line of trenches but for a short distance. A
few idle flags perched on the dirt hills. Behind them rows of dark bodies
with a few heads stuck curiously over the top.
Always the noise of skirmishers sounded from the woods on the
front and left, and the din on the right grew to frightful proportions. The
guns roared without an instant's pause for breath. The men saw the cannon
emerge from all parts and engage in a stupendous wrangle. No one could hear a
sentence.
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